Chapter 55:
Beatrice Thorne descended the grand staircase. She moved slowly, but with the terrifying gravity of a collapsing star. She wore a high-collared silk blouse and enough diamonds to purchase a small island nation.
Ashley immediately jumped up, her face transforming into a mask of syrupy sweetness. “Grandmother! Let me help you.”
Beatrice didn’t even look at her grand-niece. She walked straight past Ashley’s outstretched hand and stopped in front of Aurora. The room went deadly silent. Even the fire seemed to stop crackling.
Beatrice reached out. Her hands were gnarled with age, the skin like parchment paper, but her grip was surprisingly strong as she took Aurora’s hand.
“You came,” the old woman said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was worried you’d be too busy conquering the tech world to eat with dinosaurs.”
“I would never refuse a personal request from you, Beatrice,” Aurora said, her tone softening instantly. It was the only warmth she had shown since entering the house.
Ashley’s mouth hung open. Her face flushed a deep, ugly red.
Beatrice reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a small, rectangular velvet box. It was deep emerald green, the color of the Thorne family crest.
“For you,” Beatrice said.
“Beatrice, I can’t,” Aurora started to protest, stepping back. “I’m not family anymore.”
“Hush,” the Matriarch commanded. She opened the box. Inside lay a bracelet of platinum and emeralds, an Art Deco piece that Aurora recognized from the family portraits in the hallway. It was a legacy piece. “It matches your eyes. And unlike the rest of this family, you actually have a spine. You remind me of myself before I learned to be polite.”
She clasped it onto Aurora’s wrist herself. The metal was cool against Aurora’s skin.
Sterling stepped forward, his disbelief overriding his composure. “Grandmother, that is a family heirloom. It belongs to the Thorne women.”
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“She is a Thorne woman in spirit, if not in law,” Beatrice snapped. “More so than the vultures currently circling my estate.”
The heavy front door opened again, letting in a gust of biting wind that swirled through the foyer and into the drawing room.
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees in a second.
Elias Thorne walked in.
He wore a black overcoat that seemed to absorb the light around him. He pulled off his leather gloves, his movements precise and predatory. He didn’t look at Sterling. He didn’t look at Ashley. He walked straight toward his mother.
“Mother,” Elias said, his voice a deep baritone that vibrated in Aurora’s chest.
“Elias,” Beatrice smiled, patting his arm. “You’re late.”
“Business,” he said simply. He turned his head, and his grey eyes landed on Aurora.
There was a pause. A beat of silence that stretched too long.
“You remember Aurora,” Beatrice said, her voice laced with mischief. “Sterling’s ex-wife. The one who outmaneuvered your nephew.”
Elias extended his hand. It was a formal gesture, cold and professional.
“Ms. Vance,” he said.
Aurora reached out. She intended a brief, polite shake. Their fingertips brushed before her palm could even make full contact.
.
.
.